


Writhe

by ProtoKoda



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fingering, Oral, Orgasm Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProtoKoda/pseuds/ProtoKoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A sumptuous little oneshot. Just because I rather enjoy this pairing. Slight reference to Harrenhal if you squint.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Writhe

**Author's Note:**

> A sumptuous little oneshot. Just because I rather enjoy this pairing. Slight reference to Harrenhal if you squint.

He really was always a little too good at making her squirm. 

He might have been her protector by day, but here in the half-darkness- in his bed, he's nothing short of sadistic.

A veritable tyrant, she supposed. Delighting in whatever reaction she provided as she sought to defend herself from any onslaught of his. Savouring the effects of his efforts. Watching her every gasp and shudder as he coaxes her with the most exquisite tortures he can think of. Fucking sadist. 

Now, more so than ever, lying on her back, knees spread over his shoulders and his fingers digging bruising marks into her hips in order to hold her down. Face buried between her legs.

And he is far too good at this.

Every time his tongue passes over her she arches for him, drawing every stroke out with sighs and whimpers, knowing exactly how to tease her. She's trying desperately to grind against his mouth, searching for more friction but he's got other ideas. He wants to take his time.

“Patience, Arya Stark,” he whispers. His breath on the inside of her thighs is driving her crazy.

Her own breath comes in heaves with the rise and fall of her chest, and she huffs in indignation. “Lick me, you swine.”

He chuckles against her sex, the vibration sending dizzying waves of heat to her belly, but acquiesces this once. His tongue is hot and wet, the texture maddening. He sucks, bites gently, increasing her sensitivity to his ministrations.

Her hands fist in the sheets beside her head and her mouth is open, panting, whining softly.

Without warning two fingers slide into her and push deeply upwards, wrenching out a little half-scream. She almost cries out in protest – too much, too sudden, too intense, she wasn't expecting – but her words turn to whimpers as he works her expertly. Slowly, at first, then not so slowly. 

His eyes are fixed on her, watching her every reaction. Watching the way her breasts heave for him, the way her head turns to the side, desperately seeking air that can't come steadily enough no matter how hard she tries to steady her breathing. 

The sensation is blinding hot, driving out all thought and coherent language. 

Pushing, she realises. Pushing her over the edge, closer and closer and not there, holding her, drawing it out, keeping her right on edge until she's practically sobbing for release. It's too much. It's not enough. It's torture.  
“Jaqen... please... more... I need...”

A deep groan against her clit is all the response she receives. But he doesn't change his pace. 

Her thighs twitch against her will, stomach clenching and hands fisting in his hair. It's all she can do not to scream.

“Please...”

Arya's whines increase in pitch and frequency. 

His fingers dig further into her hip bones, more brutally and viciously with every attempt to move away from his incredible mouth, until it hurts.

“Please...”

He relents, and when Arya comes it's almost agony. Jaqen stills his motions, fingers still buried to the knuckle and mouth pressed flat against her, feeling every shudder and every languished contraction of her muscles as she writhes in his grip.

She is nearly boneless as he withdraws his fingers, sucking them with obvious pleasure as though he cannot get enough of her taste, eyeing her with some satisfaction before he crawls up over her spent form and lays a few soft kisses across her collarbone.

“Fucking sadist.”

She can feel his smile against her neck, and a sound not unlike a purr rumbles in his throat.

“I know.”


End file.
